


Bras 'n Things

by Cecilia1204



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humour, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 14:16:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19975456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cecilia1204/pseuds/Cecilia1204
Summary: After a spate of thefts, security guard Sandor Clegane, has to guard the lingerie department where a certain redhead he may or may not have a crush on, works.





	Bras 'n Things

**Author's Note:**

> Sansan Secret Santa - Christmas in July
> 
> This is my gift for my Secret Santa giftee, @cheeedddaaarrr on Tumblr.   
> The prompt was: Security Guard Sandor loves the sweetheart. And there was a big yes for the smut!
> 
> Hope you like it!

“Clegane!”

Sandor Clegane, security guard for the exclusive department store, Lannister’s, rolled his eyes in disdain for the voice’s owner and tried to make out he’d not heard that whiny, smarmy voice. Gods, he hated Petyr Baelish.

“Clegane! I know you heard me.”

With a long-suffering internal sigh, Sandor turned around to face the weaselly Store Manager, and unfortunately, his boss. “Yeah, Lit…Mr Baelish?” That was close. Amongst many of the store’s employees, Petyr Baelish was called Littlefinger, especially the women, many of whom had been the unlucky victims of those wandering fingers. Sandor’s personal name for him was Littlefucker. He thought it was appropriate.

Always immaculately dressed, Petyr Baelish walked up to Sandor, his pointy face and shifty eyes boring into the huge, muscled security guard. “Finally, Clegane,” he sneered slightly. “For such a large man, you are remarkably difficult to locate, even when you are called over the radio.” 

_That’s because I deliberately try to stay away from you_ , thought Sandor snidely. There was no love lost between the two men. “I was checking out a possible case of shop-lifting,” replied Sandor. It was a plausible excuse.

Lannister’s was one of those department stores that was mostly frequented by the rich and famous, those that aspired to be rich and famous and those that just wanted to dream about what it would be like to be rich and famous. They stocked mainly top-line designer brands and up and coming designers clamoured to have their designs sold within its scented, luxurious walls. Just walking in the golden doors was like walking into another world.

All this wealth and luxury was extremely tempting to some of those who couldn’t afford to purchase it legitimately, hence, the huge security budget spent each year to deter any light fingered withdrawals. 

Sandor Clegane was one of those on whom the security budget was spent. Intimidatingly large, the security guard was a well-known presence throughout the store, his burn-scarred face often enough to deter even the most brazen thief. When he wasn’t roaming the store, he was in the security office, monitoring the multitude of camera angles that filmed just about every nook and cranny of the department store.

“Hmm, and was there? Shop-lifting?” asked Baelish suspiciously

“Not this time. They probably decided it wasn’t worth the risk,” replied Sandor, straight faced. Eager to get away from Littlefucker’s beady eyes, he straightened to his full height, nearly a foot taller than the store manager, hoping to intimidate him into leaving him alone.

“Good. That’s good,” nodded Baelish. “Unfortunately, it seems we _do_ have a shop-lifting problem in the store. One that none of the security guards seem to have picked up on.”

Sandor frowned. “What?” How could that have escaped his notice? All reports came to him.

“Yes, well, I have received a report that the women’s lingerie department have been the victims of a number of thefts.”

“Why have I not seen any reports?” demanded Sandor. “It’s the first I’ve heard of this.”

“It seems that the staff have only just realised that the items have been stolen and not misplaced.”

That’s when Sandor’s stomach did somersaults. 

The lingerie department. 

Where a certain redhead worked. 

Sansa Stark. 

On whom he had a ridiculous crush. Fuck!

Pulling his thoughts from the beautiful girl that he may or may not have watched on the odd occasion when he was monitoring the security cameras, and felt like a total creeper for, he focused back on Baelish.

“…you’ll be stationed in the department until we can locate the shoplifter.”

What? He’d obviously missed something important. “Can you repeat that?”

Petyr sneered, making him look even more like a weasel. “I _said_ that we are slated to display the latest Victarion’s Secret million dollar bra next month, but if we keep getting our lingerie stolen, it could jeopardise that deal. They will be hesitant to display it in our store if there’s the vaguest chance of it being stolen. So, you are being assigned to guard the lingerie department. I expect that the thefts will cease and, if possible, the thief caught.”

“Why me?” How the fuck was he going to be in the same vicinity as Sansa Stark without making a fool of himself? Not that she’d notice him. Except to recoil in horror from his burn scars.

“Because you are the meanest, scariest security guard we have,” replied Baelish with a faint sneer. “Also, I actually trust you to make sure the job is done right.” It was a reluctant admission, but there was a compliment in there, somewhere.

“When do I have to go over? I’ll need to re-assign some of the other guards to take my place and to provide cover for my breaks.”

“You have until after lunch, Clegane. I want you on the lingerie floor this afternoon. Understood?” asked Baelish.

Sandor just nodded before stalking off.

Fucking great!

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Walking into the lingerie section was as awkward as Sandor had feared.

It was like walking into a lady’s boudoir. Or at least what he imagined a boudoir to look like, based on old movies he’d watched. All cream and gold, plush carpeting, soft piped music and with a faint floral smell pervading everything, rows of women’s underwear lay spread out, interspersed with life-like models wearing some of the skimpiest lingerie he’d ever seen.

Sandor felt like a bull in a china shop. There was no way he could look inconspicuous amongst all this delicate lace, satin and cotton. The wary looks he got from the female shoppers confirmed it. All he could do was scope out the best place to stand or sit so as to guard the section. He wished he could just sit in a corner, out of sight, but that was obviously impossible. His job was to wander around, watching everything.

Except her. He had to keep his eyes off Sansa Stark.

“Sandor?”

Fuck! Speak of the devil. Or angel, in her case. 

Clenching his fists, he turned slowly, telling his heart rate to calm down. “Uh, hi, Miss Stark.”

“Hi,” she smiled, her beautiful face lit up by her smile. “Are you here about the thefts?”

“Yeah. I only found out about them this morning. Why wasn’t I informed before?” he growled, her smile dimming a little.

“We’ve been doing a stock take and it’s only when we finished that we realised how many items had gone missing. A lot of stock gets returned to the wrong stands, despite asking customers to return unwanted items to us. I don’t know how they got taken out of the department, though, as it is all security tagged. Our lingerie is not cheap. Most are designer, you know,” she informed him.

Sandor wouldn’t know a cheap bra from a designer one, so he just nodded. He pushed away the image of Sansa wearing one of these lacy concoctions for his viewing pleasure.

“And with the Victarion’s Secret bra coming, it’s a bit of a worry.”

Littlefucker had mentioned something about it. “What is that, exactly?”

Sansa’s smile returned instantly. “Oh, they do it every year. It’s a special bra that is studded with diamonds and pearls and usually costs an absolute fortune. It’s a real honour to have it on display here,” she breathed in excitement.

“Hmm,” he replied. Seemed a stupid idea to him. “Wouldn’t that be…err… uncomfortable?”

She giggled and shook her head. “It’s not something to wear, though you could, in theory. It’s more a form of art. A gimmick, to get customers to buy their lingerie.”

He nodded, still not really getting the logic of it. “Anyway, looks like I’m to guard the department and try to catch the culprit, if they return.”

Sansa’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh! So you’ll be hanging around here all day. Every day?”

Sandor figured she was horrified by the prospect. “Yes. I’ll try and remain in the background as much as possible,” he tried to reassure her.

A smirk appeared on her face. “Somehow, I doubt you’d ever be able to go un-noticed.”

Inwardly sighing, Sandor shrugged. Her comment confirmed that she found him hideous. It wasn’t a surprise. No reason to feel a stabbing pain in his chest. “Whatever,” he spat. 

With a faint blush, Sansa rushed off, ostensibly to assist a customer but more likely to get away from him, he sulked to himself. 

This was going to be a nightmare.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And Sandor was right. It _was_ a nightmare.

Sansa Stark was out to kill him. He was sure of it.

The sight of her holding up tiny scraps of satin and lace against her body got him so hot and bothered he had to walk away in the opposite direction, lest she noticed the sudden tightness in his pants.

Her uniform of tight skirt and heels, topped with a filmy blouse, through which the outline of her own bra was visible, was driving him insane. He had to physically drag his eyes away from her arse when she walked in front of him during his rounds.

Her colleague, Margaery Tyrell, wore the same outfit but it had no effect on him at all. Only Sansa.

There were times he could almost imagine she was teasing him deliberately.

Those times when she would bend over, right as he walked by, ostensibly straightening up a rack. He’d cop an eyeful of either her peachy arse or down her cleavage as it gaped open. The glimpse of lace had his temperature soaring.

Then there was the time her shorter-than-normal skirt rode up as she bent to pick up a fallen hanger and he nearly had an aneurism when he spotted lace on her thigh. She was wearing stockings. Not tights. Stockings.

Sandor hastily made his way to the store exit after that, calling for his replacement on the way, informing him that he was going on his break early. He nearly ran to his car, parked in a darkened corner, climbed in and slammed the door behind him. 

Thankful for the dark tinted windows, he unzipped his pants and pulled out his engorged cock, breathing a sigh of relief as the pressure eased. Tipping the seat back, he hastily spat into his hand, closing his eyes as he gripped it tightly and began rubbing up and down, using his dripping precum for added lubrication. Imagining running his tongue between Sansa’s stocking-clad legs, it didn’t take long for his body to tighten, pleasure racing through him as he came, spilling into his handkerchief with a loud groan.

Flopping back into the seat, Sandor panted heavily as he regained his senses. Looking around, he was relieved that there wasn’t anyone nearby. That would have been great – to get arrested for lewd public behaviour. He was chagrined to realise he’d acted like a hormonal teenage boy, unable to even wait until he got home to jerk off. 

If this is what he was like after a week in Sansa Stark’s vicinity, he didn’t know how he’d survive until he could go back to his normal work.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It didn’t get better. If anything, it got worse.

Sandor wasn’t the smartest man in the world but even he could tell that Sansa was flirting with him. Whether she was doing it just to mess with him, he didn’t know, but it was likely. Why else would a gorgeous, twenty-something girl want to seriously flirt with a scarred, thirty-something grump of a security guard?

It pissed him off, but that didn’t stop his body reacting inappropriately to any contact between them, though he’d mastered it enough not repeat his impromptu trip to his car again.

“Sandor?”

Her honeyed voice flowed over him. Steeling himself, he turned to face her. “Yes?”

She was wearing a fitted, black sheath dress which only emphasised her amazing figure. “I’m sorry to bother you but I need your help.” At his nod, she continued. “I can’t quite reach that row of bras over there,” she said, pointing to a wall nearby. “Margaery’s gone to lunch and I really need to change the display before it gets busy again. Can you get them down for me?”

Her huge, blue eyes looked at him beseechingly and he was powerless to resist. She did have a step-ladder but he didn’t even question why she didn’t use it. “Sure.”

“Oh, thank you!” she beamed. “You’re so tall, it saves me having to drag the ladder out.”

With her directions, he pulled off the skimpiest bras he’d seen yet. He didn’t think they would even cover the nipples. How did they justify the price tag when there was barely any material? As he got them, he passed them into Sansa’s arms, not looking at her for fear she’d figure out how awkward he felt, the lingerie looking like tooth floss in his hands.

“I’ve wondered how comfortable these are on,” mused Sansa, holding a bra up to her chest.

Sandor nearly choked on his own spit. His imagination raced and he was helpless to stop looking at her breasts, picturing them in the bra, her nipples taut with excitement. 

“Hmm, I usually prefer more lace but these are kind of sexy, especially with the pants. What do you think?”

Not turning his body, lest she see the huge boner he was sporting, he gruffly replied. “Wouldn’t know, Miss Stark. Don’t wear them very often.”

There was a brief silence before Sansa burst out laughing. Not just a giggle, but a belly laugh, her face scrunched in her mirth. It made her, if anything, even more beautiful. Calming down to a chortle, Sansa grabbed his bicep, squeezing lightly. “You are funny, Sandor. How did I miss that?”

She was touching him! Fuck, he was going to lose it. “Uh, probably because I’m not?” 

Sansa shook her head. “I bet you’re totally different away from work. And call me Sansa.”

“I’m not. I’m a grump everywhere,” he insisted.

About to argue, a customer called Sansa over, to his relief. Quickly grabbing the remaining bras, he placed them on the pile she’d made and hurried off to another corner of the department, discreetly readjusting himself and trying to think of anything to get rid of his inconvenient erection.

After that day, it seemed that Sansa took every opportunity to talk to him. He both loved and hated it. 

The excitement over the Victarion’s Secret million dollar bra was rising, with contractors coming to set up the display area. On the day, a team of specialised guards would arrive to secure the bra and provide even more security.

The worst part of it all, other than the near-constant boners, were the frequent visits by Joffrey Baratheon, grandson of the owner, Tywin Lannister. He was an arrogant piece of shit who ordered the girls around, demanding see what was new and making sly remarks on their sales performance.

Sansa, who was usually a picture of calm serenity, positively fumed after his visits. “What an arsehole! He’s not even on staff! But what can I do? He’s still a Lannister,” she complained to him one afternoon.

Agreeing with her, all Sandor could do was let her know that he’d back her up if Joffrey crossed the line. Joffrey flirted, badly, with both women, much to Sandor’s disgust, so he kept a close eye on the man, especially in the vicinity of the women.

Unfortunately, there were still instances of underwear going missing. They had decreased, but not disappeared. He couldn’t understand it. There was no way a customer could remove the security tags without destroying the lingerie so he couldn’t work out how they were being taken without setting off the alarms. He also watched customers with an eagle eye as well as having cameras watching everything.

Except in the change rooms, for obvious reasons. Even so, the women compared what was going in and what came out. Sandor also tried to keep track of regular customers but none of them seemed to correlate with the timing of the thefts. The only people around often enough were the staff and Joffrey Baratheon. The staff were greatly trusted and Joffrey being the thief was an absurd notion. He was one the heirs of the Lannister fortune.

With the display being launched the following day, the store management was expecting a large amount of press to attend, which meant the girls had to stay back after closing to ensure everything was perfect.

This included Sandor.

As soon as the doors closed, Sansa and Margaery ran to the change rooms, emerging shortly after in casual clothes, ready for the night.

Sandor groaned internally when he saw Sansa. She had changed into skin-tight leggings, topped with a crop top that showed off toned abs and creamy skin every time she lifted her arms. 

Seven hells! Her normal clothes were bad enough. Now this.

With her ease of movement, Sansa bent and twisted her luscious frame for hours. Her perfect, peachy arse tormented him, perfectly encased in the tight material. At one point, she lifted her arm to adjust a bracket and her proximity allowed him to see up her top and a glimpse of her pale blue, satin bra. 

Wrestling with a particularly tight bracket, Sansa’s balance was thrown off and it was clear that she was in danger of falling off the step ladder. Without a second thought, Sandor rushed up and took hold of her hips in order to steady her. His fingers practically spanned it, almost meeting in the middle and his thumbs touching her skin.

Neither of them moved for a few moments, Sandor’s brain only choosing to focus on the silky softness beneath his thumbs. Without volition, they moved slowly, caressingly and it was only Sansa’s soft gasp that brought him back to earth.

Mortified, Sandor stepped back, his hands feeling like they were burning from the feel of her.

“Thank you, Sandor,” she breathed, a little shakily. “That would have hurt.”

“It’s nothing. Best be more careful. Call me if you have trouble,” he insisted, not looking at her. He couldn’t. He needed space to calm his body down. Sandor knew that he’d be touching himself later that night to the memory of how her skin felt. The only time he’d ever feel it.

The thought almost made him want to cry.

And he never cried.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The famous bra had been brought into the store, surrounded by its minders and installed within the glass case placed on a pedestal for the viewing public’s pleasure.

Sandor still couldn’t see the point in it. Why the fuck would anyone put gems on a bra? It couldn’t even be worn, according to Sansa. 

Regardless, it was put on display with full fanfare, invitees flocking around hoping to get on camera for the local news or for social media pages. Tywin Lannister and his daughter, Cersei, preened for the cameras whilst her son, Joffrey lurked on the sidelines, trying to look interested. Not very well either, if the glares he was getting from his mother were any indication. Sansa and Margaery stood nearby, answering questions from some of the guests as well as directing them to the seats, Sandor keeping an eagle eye out for anything suspicious.

And trying to forget what Sansa’s skin felt like.

The speeches droned on and on and Sandor couldn’t help rolling his eyes. You’d think this was the opening of parliament, he thought sarcastically. His mind drifted off to his favourite topic, Sansa Stark, not paying as much attention as he should.

Cersei was just about welcome the Victarion’s Secret bra’s designer, when a scream came from the change rooms.

Sandor, instantly recognising Sansa’s voice, raced towards the rooms, determined to tear apart anyone who dared touch a hair on her head. As he drew closer, another familiar voice became discernible.

“It’s not what it looks like!”

“What are you doing?” That was Sansa.

Entering the change rooms, Sandor saw her staring into one of the cubicles, a look of disgust on her face. Reaching the open door, Sandor peered inside and got the shock of his life.

There, wearing nothing but a skimpy bra and g-string set, was Joffrey Baratheon.

“What the f…?” was all Sandor got out.

“Why are you wearing women’s underwear? In the women’s change room?” Asked Sansa, shaking her head.

“I…I…uh,” replied Joffrey, grabbing his shirt from the floor.

“Have you done this before,” she asked.

“No,” he denied, unconvincingly.

Sandor noticed two security tags lying in the corner and stepped in the cubicle to pick them up. They were exactly the type that were used on the store’s lingerie. Unwillingly, he looked at Joffrey and saw that the bra he wore didn’t have the tag on it, neither did the underwear.

He felt like washing his eyeballs out in bleach at the sight. Joffrey’s pasty, pale skin stretching out the hot pink material, lumps in all the wrong places, was something it would take decades to forget. It also answered the question of who was responsible for the thefts.

“You little fucker!” growled Sandor. “You’re the thief, aren’t you?”

“No!” denied Joffrey. “Why…”

“JOFFREY!”

Everyone in the room turned to see a furious, red-faced Cersei glaring at her son. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Mother...”

“Get dressed,” sneered Cersei. 

“Uh, Ms Lannister?” began Sansa, voice trailing off at Cersei’s glare. 

“Yes?”

“Maybe we can all go outside and wait for Joffrey there?” suggested Sansa. With a nod, Cersei shot another fulminating glance at her son and left the room, followed by Sansa and Sandor.

Waiting outside was Petyr Baelish, accompanied by Tywin Lannister. Further away, the curious stares from the guests were being studiously ignored by both men though the fury on the Lannister patriarch’s face did not bode well for Joffrey.

“Clegane, what is going on?” demand Baelish.

“Sir, we may have found our lingerie thief,” informed Sandor, proceeding to tell them what had transpired inside. “Here are the security tags. They were removed from the lingerie that…uh…Joffrey was wearing.”

“How would Joffrey do that?” asked Tywin. 

A red faced Joffrey emerged from the change rooms, refusing to look at anyone.

“Pull out your pockets, boy!” barked Tywin at his grandson. Not many would argue with Tywin, much less Joffrey, so he did as he was bid and emptied his pockets.

There, amongst keys, coins and a condom, was a small device that was used to unlock the store’s security tags. Sandor recognised it at once.

“So it _was_ you,” gasped Cersei. “You idiot!”

“Cersei, get someone to take this sorry excuse for a grandson home. Await me there, boy. This isn’t over,” commanded Tywin. 

Sandor almost felt sorry for the pasty-faced younger man as another security guard was given his orders. He didn’t envy the likelihood of Tywin ripping Joffrey a new one.

Catching Sansa’s eye, he couldn’t help the grin on his face as he watched her trying to keep a straight face. “I…I’d better go…clear up…” She looked at Cersei. “Um, what should I do with the lingerie, Ms Lannister?”

Cersei screwed her face up and walked off, waving behind her. “Throw it away and write a report as per usual.” Putting on her usual mask, she resumed mingling with her guests, putting the whole sordid affair behind her for the time being.

“Do I put down every detail, including Joffrey’s name?” asked Sansa.

“Of course, Miss Stark,” replied Baelish with a smarmy smile. Sansa nodded and returned to the change room to clear up before customers returned.

“Well, now that we’ve caught our thief,” drawled Baelish, “we won’t need you here any longer, Clegane. You may resume your normal duties as of now.”

Sandor nodded, his mood darkening. This was the end of his time in Sansa’s vicinity. Though it was an often frustrating experience, he knew he wouldn’t have another opportunity to be close to her like this again. His normal duties didn’t require him to be in this department very often. If he had the balls, he would ask her out for a drink but he’d rather take on a whole wrestling team than do that. 

Just as he was nearing the lift to take him to the basement, where the security offices were located, Sansa reached out and took his arm, sending a sharp thrill through him. “Are you going?”

He nodded. “Got orders to return to normal duties. I’m no longer needed here.”

Sansa pouted a little and it was all he could do not to bend over and kiss her right there. “I wouldn’t exactly say that,” she whispered, almost below her breath. “I…we’ll miss you up here. You’re better than a step-ladder,” she joked wanly. 

“Well, I’ll be in my usual office if your actual ladder goes missing,” he replied. The lift opened so he had no excuse to linger. “See you round, Sansa.”

She lifted her hand, waving at him. “Bye, Sandor.”

Their eyes caught and held until the doors closed, sending Sandor back to his hum-drum life.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It had been two weeks since Sandor had returned to the Security office. He hadn’t been back to the lingerie department in that time, sending another guard to do the rounds. He didn’t pay any extra attention to the security cameras, especially when Sansa was in view.

No, a clean break was best. He had to stop pining for the girl. It would never get him anywhere.

It was Friday night, the last day of the month, and Sandor found himself working late as he finished up his end-of-month reports. The other guards had left for the night now that the store was closed. He was rostered off this weekend but all he had planned was watching some football on his tv. Probably wanking to thoughts of Sansa, again. 

Same old. Same old.

The sound of a light tread on the concrete floor outside his office roused him from his musings. It sounded like a woman’s footsteps, high heels…

The door was pushed open, Sansa’s face peeking through.

“Sansa?” He stood up, shock mirrored on his face. “What…”

The rest of her body inside, she pushed the door closed behind her, stealthily locking it. “You can be really oblivious, can’t you, Sandor?” she smirked, coming closer. “I practically threw myself at you, and still, you don’t get it.”

“Wha…” She grabbed his tie and yanked. Not expecting it, Sandor showed no resistance, bending to her level, his words cut off by her lips.

Frozen for a moment, his brain trying to catch up, Sandor didn’t reciprocate. Mistaking his inaction for rejection, Sansa let go, her face flaming with mortification. “I’m sorry. I thought…”

Kicking himself for letting his dream woman believe for even a second that he didn’t want her, he took her face in his hands, nearly dwarfing it, and kissed her. Kissed her like his life depended on it. Maybe it did, because he would surely die if she stopped now.

Hearing her low moan, he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth, which she granted eagerly. Needing to be closer, one hand moved to the back of her neck, the other taking hold of her taut backside, drawing her into his body. “Fuck,” he breathed into her mouth, not willing to leave her honeyed warmth.

“Mmm,” she sighed, her hands roaming his chest and back. She pulled back and kissed his scarred cheek, making him draw back in alarm. “Shh, it’s okay. They don’t scare me. I want you. I’ve wanted you for ages.”

“Gods,” he muttered, heart pounding in response to her words. How was this happening? Good things like this didn’t happen to him. Her hands pulling off his tie told another story. “Why?”

“Why what?” she murmured against his throat, fingers working his shirt buttons. 

“Why do you want me? I’m too old for you. Too ugly. Too scarred.”

“Let me be the judge of that Sandor,” she replied. 

“Are you messing with me?” he asked. Years of rejection and taunts at his appearance made it difficult to believe a beautiful woman like Sansa Stark would really want him.

Sansa pulled back and looked him dead in the eye, her hand lightly caressing his scarred face. “No, Sandor. I’d never do that. I was attracted to you from the first – your body is amazing, if you don’t already know. And then I got to know you better when you were in my department. I don’t usually flaunt myself at men, you know. And I _never_ wear stockings to work,” she teased. “Now, are you going to interrogate me or are you going to fuck me?”

Sandor’s cock, which was already hard, became positively painful at those words. He still doubted, but he wasn’t stupid. He had the opportunity to be inside the most beautiful woman he’d ever known and he wasn’t about to pass that up.

“Yes, Sansa, I’m definitely going to fuck you,” he growled, his tongue licking a spot beneath her ear, making her nearly purr. “I still don’t get it but I want you too much to say no. I’m going to fuck you on my desk, then I’m taking you home and I’m going to fuck you all night. Is that okay with you?”

“Oh, yes! Please!” moaned Sansa as he took her breast in his huge hand. 

The time for talking was over as Sandor picked her up and carried her to his desk, pushing everything off with one sweep of his arm, not giving a damn if anything broke. He stepped in between her legs, making her tight skirt rise, revealing the lacy tops of her stockings.

“Fuck, I love these,” he murmured, sucking on her collarbone as he fumbled with her buttons. His own shirt was opened to his trousers but he needed to see her. Taking pity on him, she undid her tiny buttons, pulling it out of her skirt and nearly ripping it off. She was wearing a cream and pink satin and lace bra which just covered her nipples. “Seven hells, you’re going to kill me.”

“Not before you come inside me,” she mewled at the twin sensations of his mouth on her nipple, wetting the material, and his hands stroking the silky skin above the stockings, edging closer and closer to her centre.

“I don’t have anything,” he murmured, wanting nothing more than to have no barriers between them but knowing he needed to have some sense.

“I’ve got an implant and I’m clean,” she replied, fumbling with his belt.

“Gods, you’re perfect. I’m clean, too,” he reassured her. Pulling down the bra cups, the material lifted her rosy tips for his mouth as if in offering. An offering he didn’t fail to accept. Sansa cried out as he suckled first one, then the other, nipple. Lifting her up, he pulled off her pants, leaving her in nothing but her skirt and bra. 

He pulled back, soothing her nipple with his tongue, and looked down. “So wet, for me, baby,” he murmured. “So pretty.” One finger dragged through the heat of her, dipping into her slick entrance before tracing her engorged clit, Sansa’s heaving breaths egging him on. 

“Yes! Right there,” she mewled.

He rubbed her clit for several moments before dipping a finger inside her. “So tight, little one. You’re going to feel so good on my cock,” he crooned, taking her lips again as he pumped his finger into her. 

“Shit! Sandor!” Her face was flushed, the bloom extending down to her breasts and she cried out when he added a second finger. 

“I want to eat you out, taste every crevice,” he growled against her throat. “But that’s for next time. I need to fuck you first.”

“Yes… _ahh_ …yes…please!”

Her hands finally opened his trousers and he groaned when she took him in her hand with a gasp. “Shit, you’re big!” she breathed. “I knew you… _oh_ …had to be, but, gods, I want you inside…me.” Her hands squeezed and pumped along with her words, and Sandor felt it down to his toes.

“Can I fuck you now?” he grunted. “I don’t…fuck…think I can wait.” He withdrew his fingers and sucked on them, savouring her exquisite taste.

“Fuck me, Sandor!” she demanded, nearly crying with her need.

Adjusting her on the desk, Sandor lined himself up with her soaking cunt. One hand grabbed her hip to steady her, while the other took himself in hand and rubbed up and down, covering himself in her slick. 

Taking her mouth with his, he pushed inside, folds enveloping him like warm velvet and he moaned into her mouth. He wasn’t religious but he imagined this was what heaven felt like.

“Oh gods…” she sighed heavily before wincing a little at his size. Not wanting to hurt her, he stilled, waiting for her signal to keep going. It took a minute, but she finally wrapped her arms around his neck and crooned in his ear. “Fuck me.”

With an animalistic growl, Sandor began pumping into her, slowly at first but as her sighs and whimpers got louder, he sped up until he was thrusting frantically into her, his hands gripping her hips.

“Ahh….fuck…” she cried out. “ _Yes!_ ”

Sandor shifted his hips a little and she almost screamed when he began rubbing his cock against a spongy bit that had her shivering with pleasure. “Fuck, you feel incredible,” he muttered, his brain hazy from the intense pleasure of being inside his dream girl.

“Oh, I’m…going to…come,” she gasped. “Touch me.”

Unable to deny her, not that he wanted to, he did as he was bid and started rubbing her swollen clit whilst pounding into her, swallowing her screams with his mouth. He could feel his balls tightening, signalling his own impending orgasm, but he would sooner slit his throat before coming before she’d climaxed.

“Come, little one,” he breathed. “Let me… feel you… on my…cock.”

As if those words were the signal she needed, she began keening as her orgasm hit her, her cunt squeezing and milking him, body trembling with pleasure. She gripped him with her arms and legs, head thrown back.

It was too much for Sandor, and with a few more powerful thrusts, buried his face in her throat to stop him from shouting as his climax swept over him like a tsunami. From the tips of his toes to the top of his head, he felt his whole body contract as he spent himself inside her, wave after powerful wave. He lost all sense of how long his orgasm lasted but it was the most intense feeling he’d ever had.

Panting and gasping, they held each other as they came down from their highs, bodies sweating and trembling. Gradually, their heartbeats and breathing slowed until they were steady enough to pull back. 

Sandor thought she looked even more beautiful now, with her makeup smeared and her brow sweaty, than before. Unable to help himself, he leaned down and kissed her softly. He could feel her smile through the kiss and his heart soared.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt happy. Really happy. “Amazing.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Both looked down as he pulled his softening cock out. The sight of their mixed fluids seeping out of her made him twitch, but he’d need a little time before going again. He wasn’t a teenager any more. 

Sansa grinned at him. “So, are you keeping your word and taking me home now? Oh, by the way, I’ve got a free weekend.”

“Do you now?” he smirked. “Just so happens I do as well.”

“How lucky is that? Wanna spend it together?” she asked coyly.

“Sansa Stark, you are more than just a beautiful face, you know,” he replied. “Let’s go. I said I’d fuck you all night. A man needs to keep his promises, you know. I’ll just change the terms to all weekend.”

“Hand me my underwear and we’ll get out of here,” said Sansa eagerly.

“Nope. Those are mine now. Besides you won’t need them.”

He’d never left his office so fast in his life.


End file.
